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Published:
2021-02-15
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2021-03-26
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Poetic Justice

Chapter 3

Summary:

Last chapter pre whumpfest. You have been warned.

Chapter Text

CHAPTER 3

Dani turned to look at him and he slowly did the same. When their eyes met, the guilt that had filled his momentarily vanished. Fear replaced it. That same fear was audible when he spoke. 

“Justice is coming.” 

 

When the team met back up at the precinct, Malcolm revealed the full message. Gil was noticeably concerned with the new development. 

“Assuming these messages are actually meant for you,” he gestured toward Malcolm.

“They are,” Bright quipped. 

“What’s our play? How do we prepare for this,” his fingers made air quotes, “justice?” 

Agent Blake crossed his arms as he leaned against the window, “Can we even? Without knowing exactly what that supposed ‘justice’ is?” 

“No. Other than catching him, there isn’t much we can do.” Malcolm glanced down at the conference table. It was littered with case files and crime scene photos, “There has to be something here and I’m just missing it.” 

Agent Coe showed Blake his phone, “Tech just sent us Adam Reynolds’ new address.” 

“That’s great! Let’s go,” the new intel was a shot of adrenaline for the profiler. 

Blake’s response was the antidote. “We,” his hand wiggled back and forth between him and his partner, “will be going to Bethel. You will not be involved in questioning Adam Reynolds in any way. At best, he was wrongfully imprisoned. At worst, he’s our current killer hell-bent on delivering some sort of ‘justice’ to you. Either way he’s not reacting well if he sees you.” 

“Blake’s right,” Gil agreed. “This is their territory, anyway. We can keep working the current murders on our side.” 

“Sounds good,” Coe agreed. “It’s late, we should get going. At this rate it’ll be midnight before we get there.” He addressed Gil when next he spoke, “We’ll contact you after we’ve talked to Reynolds.” With that the two agents excused themselves from the conference room, a long drive ahead of them.

 


 

Three hours and multiple cups of coffee later, Gil’s phone buzzed, while the team was combing through files and dead ends. 

“Arroyo.” 

Three sets of eyes were glued to him. His comments were vague and short, so Malcolm tried to profile every expression he made. The call ended and he immediately sighed. 

“Reynolds’ new address was empty. No furniture. No power. Nothing.” 

“So, it was a decoy.” It wasn’t a question. Malcolm’s statement was meant as fact. 

Gil nodded, “Looks that way. They’re staying overnight; said they were going to question some locals in the morning.” He looked at his watch, “We should break for the night also. Come back with fresh eyes.” 

The team agreed, said their goodbyes, and exited the precinct. 

 


 

Malcolm stared at the ceiling above his bed. He craved sleep, rest for his weary mind and body. But he knew exactly what would happen the second he closed his eyes and drifted off. Despite knowing what was to come, he couldn’t fight it for long and, just as he had predicted, the terrors returned. 

 

The setting was similar to the other dreams; the most recent victim lay supine on the floor. Her arms were crossed respectfully over her chest. Her winged eyeliner was perfectly drawn, though Malcolm only got a second to admire the work before her eyes burst open. The woman gasped, clutching her chest and again blood flowed from the wound beneath her clothing like a river. 

“Help me!” she begged, “Give it back!” 

He looked down and her heart was again in his hands, beating dramatically, as though it were a gasping for blood instead of air. 

“Here,” Malcolm stepped forward and handed it to her, but it split into two pieces as she took it.”

“Fix it,” she cried, crimson still spilling from her torso. 

“How? What do I do?” he asked, desperate to help her. 

“Make it right,” she ordered, her voice shifting from helpless to angry. “You’re next,” she warned, menace dripping from the words. 

“What?” Malcolm stared at her in surprise. 

“Justice is coming.” Her face contorted into the most terrifying grin he had ever seen. 

Suddenly, a pain unlike anything he had ever felt ripped through his chest, and his own blood poured from a wound identical to hers. Malcolm gasped, trying to simultaneously catch his breath and stop the bleeding. He fell to his knees and clutched at his shirt before collapsing completely onto the floor. 



Once again, he bolted upright in his bed, the restraints taught and groaning where they were fastened to the wall. Malcolm released himself from the tethers, and reached over to his bedside table to check his phone: 4:37am. As had become a habit of late, he rubbed his temples with his fingers before sighing and getting out of bed. 

 


 

20 minutes later, Malcolm was standing in his kitchen adding an ungodly amount of sugar to his coffee when the buzzer to his apartment went off. He jumped at the sound and raised an eyebrow quizzically, while walking over to answer. 

“Hello?”

“Hey. It’s me. Can I come up?” Dani’s voice, slightly distorted by the electronics, filled the room.

He stared at the box for a moment in shock, “Sure,” and pressed the button, leaving the door ajar. 

When she entered he was back around the island, stirring his coffee. 

“Hey,” his greeting was genuinely kind toward her presence, but lackluster. The fact that he didn’t have to pretend around her was something he appreciated. Honestly, he didn’t have the strength to pretend right now. 

Dani approached the island, dangling a brown bag as though it were a prized possession. “I brought breakfast,” she smiled, unrolling the top of it. Malcolm had to admit the smell that exited was mouth-watering. He watched his partner as she wiggled her eyebrows and walked around the island, helping herself to the cabinet where the plates were located. He peeked in the bag while she was returning, “Touch that apple fritter and I will do a full take down.” 

He couldn’t help but grin, “But they’re my favorite,” he lied, reaching into the bag to deliberately mess with her.

She smacked his arm and pointed a vertical plate threateningly. “We both know that’s BS. Your chocolate croissant,” she tilted her head to brandish a little attitude, “Which you ACTUALLY like, is under the fritter.” She extended her plate toward him, “Now hand over the fritter and no one gets hurt.” 

Malcolm finally obliged, retrieving his own pastry afterward. He pulled a few miniscule pieces off of the end, his mind preoccupied. He forced himself to eat the first one; the second remained on the plate.  

Dani made herself comfortable at the bar and took a few bites before speaking again, ”So, you’re not eating again?”

He raised his head, “Again?” 

She took another bite, nodding emphatically, “Yes, again. You do this when you’re overly stressed. Which is basically always. You hardly ever eat and when you do it’s nothing but sugar. And yes, I say that with full understanding of the irony-in-a-bag I provided for our breakfast.”

“You monitor my eating habits?” 

His tone was less playful than she expected it to be. So, she attempted to keep the banter light, “Well, the first time it happened I was trying to disprove JT’s theory that you were a genius profiler robot. But, when you never actually ate anything, I started to wonder.” 

Malcolm didn’t respond; his eyes focused on the croissant, while he picked tiny flakes off of it. 

“Talk to me,” she requested, setting down her fritter.

He didn’t look up at her, “I don’t want to talk about it, Dani.” 

“Sometimes what you want and what’s best aren’t always the same thing,” she coaxed. 

The comment irked, Malcolm. “And you know what’s best for me now?” he spat, dusting off his hands and crossing them over his chest. 

“You don’t have to get angry, Bright. I’m just trying to help you.” 

“But you’re not helping. Showing up at my house at 5:00 am unannounced and interrogating me IS NOT HELPING!”

Dani didn’t back down, “I’m worried, okay. You’re not sleeping, You’re not eating. And based on yesterday, you’re having full-on hallucinations again. This case is clearly getting to you.”

“OF COURSE IT IS!” His arms flew up in frustration, “Women are dying because of my error!” 

“Wrong!” Dani jabbed her finger into the granite countertop as she spoke, “Women are dying because a deranged psychopath is out there murdering them. Yes, you made a mistake. But, that doesn’t put the blame for these deaths on your shoulders. That is not your guilt to bear. It’s his.” Malcolm opened his mouth to argue, but she shut him down. “Enough! No more blaming yourself. Period.” 

For a moment the two of them simply stared at each other in defiance. Eventually that melted away and Malcolm’s shoulders slumped, as he ran his hands through his hair. “I’m just… struggling right now.” Dani didn’t interrupt him, allowing the extended pause before he continued. “I know this sounds incredibly self-centered, but the one thing that kept me going after the case in White Mills - and getting fired afterward - was the fact that I had at least caught the killer. That the guilty man was behind bars and wouldn’t be able to kill again. That was a lie. And now new victims are dying because of my failure.” Shame forced his gaze downward and he studiously occupied himself with the countertop. 

Dani leaned forward, attempting to meet his eyes, “So, then fix it. Make it right.” 

Malcolm’s head jerked up and he stared at her; his nightmares flashed behind his eyes in rapid succession. Dani’s voice blended with the victims’ in his head.

“What did you say?” 

“I said, ‘make it right’.” She reached forward and laid her hand on his, “I understand that things are crazy right now. And even though I don’t think you’re to blame for any of these new victims, what matters is how you feel. If you can’t shake this guilt you’re feeling, then find a way to make it right. So you can get that burden off of your conscience.” 

Malcolm nodded, squeezing the side of her hand with his thumb in gratitude. Dani released him and straightened up on the stool. “Now,” she demanded, taking a comically large bite out of her fritter, “eat.” 

He gave her a “cheers” gesture with his croissant before taking his own oversized bite, each of them smiling as they chewed. 

 


 

Dani and Malcolm walked the 15 minutes from his apartment to the precinct together, pleasantly chatting about anything other than the case. For once Malcolm was quite enjoying the small talk and banter. Dani had taken it upon herself to choose this walk as the right time to pester him about numerous parts of his personal life. First it was his “lack of musical diversity”, which he vehemently denied. 

“You desperately need more hip hop in your repertoire,” she scolded playfully. 

Malcolm chuckled, “Why? Because everything about my life screams ‘rap’?” 

“Hey! Hip hip is all about where you’re from, the adversity you’ve overcome, street cred. You check every one of those boxes.” 

Malcolm stopped dead in the middle of the sidewalk and stared at her as though she’d sprouted a second head, “I have,” he used air quotes, “street cred? Please elaborate on this.” 

She giggled, but clarified her statement, “Um, you’ve been arrested for murder.”

“Yes and who was it that cuffed me again?” he inquired, squinting his eyes in mock disdain.  

Dani waved his comment off and continued, “You’ve spent time in jail. Frequently stand up to and even get in physical altercations with killers. You’ve been stabbed. Gotten incredibly high in a nightclub. You chopped off a guy’s hand. You had a horrible childhood, but overcame it to make something of yourself. Oh, and you punched a sheriff in the face.”

Malcolm just blinked at her. 

“Come on!” Dani urged, “That screams hip hop album.” 

The profiler simply shook his head and continued walking down Lafayette.

Dani, however, wasn't finished, “You know this started off as a joke but, there might legitimately be something here…” 

 

When they arrived at the precinct, Malcolm opened the door for her and she walked through practically bouncing, “Maybe we should talk to JT about this. I mean the album practically writes itself. Oh, and the titles,” she turned excitedly when he entered afterward, her arms gesturing emphatically, “The Miseducation of Malcolm Bright.” Her smile was so big he was sure it could be seen from the street. “No! Straight Outta Affluence.” Even he had to chuckle at that one. “Oooo or: DAMN. I realize the last one is just the original title, but fits so well, ya know?”

“I’m never going to hear the end of this am I?” he laughed, as they entered the bullpen. 

“The end of what?” JT asked, exiting Gil’s office. 

“Nothing!” Malcolm turned and glared at Dani threateningly. 

She scrunched her smile into one corner of her face and held her tongue. However, once Malcolm had started toward the conference room she mouthed, “Later,” to her fellow detective. 

JT and Dani sat at the conference table, awaiting the morning briefing. Malcolm was looking over the caseboard again, as though something might have been added since they’d all gone home. 

Gil entered the room, coffee mug in hand, “Any epiphanies overnight?” When no one responded he took a sip from the mug, “Okay then. So, where do we stand?” 

Malcolm spoke first, still facing the caseboard, “‘Justice is coming’ feels personal. Like Adam is angry for what happened.” 

Gil offered the counter argument, “Or someone thinks they’re the hand of justice. Have we considered that the way these women were chosen might not match the original M.O.? Obviously the method of the kill is basically identical, but maybe these women aren’t being killed for the same reasons.” 

“It’s possible,” Malcolm conceded, “But not only are these murders identical, they’re deliberately happening within the jurisdiction of the unit I now work with. The only other reason a killer would shift their hunting and disposal ground almost 150 miles would be to avoid capture. That would be one hell of a coincidence to accidentally land where I’m working.” 

“Fair enough,” the lieutenant agreed, “but all of this is assuming Reynolds is the killer. How do you explain the murder while he was still in lock up?”

Malcolm’s face fell, “That, I don’t know.” 

Gil’s phone buzzed and he stood while reading it, “Looks like our agent friends got us some intel on Reynolds’ appeal. They sent it ahead while they drive back.” He left the room to go print the information.

A few minutes later he re-entered with a stack of papers. He handed sets to the detectives and slid one to the opposite end of the table toward Malcolm, who quickly sat down and started looking over them. The team flipped through the paperwork calling out certain details as they went. 

“Appealed to Pennsylvania Superior Court,” Dani read. 

Unsurprisingly, Malcolm was ahead of them, “An alibi came forward.” The rest of the team looked over at him confused. “Page three,” he clarified. “The alibi was fearful of coming forward initially due to the nature of the activities that he and Reynolds were engaged in.”

“Translation: drugs,” JT noted.
Malcolm kept reading, “Apparently he felt guilty for not speaking up and sought out counsel to make amends.” 

Dani’s brows were furrowed, “That seems sketchy.” 

“Very,” Malcolm agreed, “If he had an alibi, why didn’t Reynolds play that card immediately? A few years, bumped down for good behavior vs. life in prison? Why keep that to yourself?”

“Because, it’s fabricated,” Gil concluded. 

“Exactly!”

The conference room was silent for a moment as the team continued to read through the paperwork. 

JT opened his mouth to speak, then closed it. Malcolm heard the sound and questioned him without looking up, “What?” 

The detective shook his head as though he were already dismissing his idea, “I know this sounds crazy but… what if Reynolds is working with the original killer?” The team didn’t respond. Three sets of eyes were staring at him almost expressionless. JT defended his thought, “I mean it is possible right? It’s happened before. Maybe they’ve been in contact.” 

“That would explain how the new kills match the original M.O.,” Malcolm’s eyes were bouncing around as his brain worked every angle of this new theory.

“And that convenient new alibi,” Dani added.

Malcolm pointed at her in agreement with the comment, “JT, this has merit.” 

“So, that brings us back to solving the original case,” Gil concluded. “Bright, how many suspects other than Reynolds did you have?” 

“None. That was the problem.” 

Silence again permeated the room once more, until it was broken by a detective knocking on the doorframe of the conference room. 

“Sir?” His question was directed at Gil. 

Malcolm’s head lowered, as the lieutenant sighed and responded, “Where are we headed?” 

“148 Lafayette.” 

The profiler’s head whipped toward the door in surprise, “Lafayette?” The detective nodded and Malcolm looked back to his mentor, “That’s only three blocks from my apartment.” 

“And not even a half a mile from here,” Dani added. 

“Let’s go,” Gil ordered. 

 


 

JT and Gil entered the apartment first. Before Malcolm could follow, Dani tapped his arm, “Nothing you’re about to see is your fault. Remember that, okay.” 

When he looked at her she could see the pain in his eyes. His only response was to nod, half-heartedly. She followed behind after he entered and almost ran into him when he stopped in his tracks. Once she moved around him she realized why. The victim was laid on the floor just as all the others had been. She was positioned in the same manner as well, but her clothes were covered in blood. There must have been at least twenty stab wounds all over the body, not to mention the gaping hole in her chest that was clearly visible even from where Dani stood. 

“This is definitely an escalation, JT said, bending down next to the victim. 

“This isn’t the same killer,” Malcolm corrected, almost monotone.

Gil watched his would-be-son, knowing that this had to be unbelievably painful for him, “How can you be sure?” 

“Well the overkill for starters. The original killer was methodical, clinical almost in his approach. This,” he pointed at the plethora of stab wounds, “is rage.” 

“What else?” Gil asked. 

Malcolm leaned over to get a better look at the hole in the victim’s chest, “That cut isn’t as clean. Whoever did this wasn’t nearly as practiced as the previous murders. Her makeup is done, but it’s sloppy compared to before. The heart isn’t as clean as it usually is. Everything about this is different. Close, but slightly off.” He glanced around the room quickly, “Do we have a message this time?” 

“In here,” an officer answered from the kitchen. 

The team turned the corner to find another message hand-written in blood across the cabinets. 

“It’s time,” Dani read aloud. 

She watched Bright closely, looking for any sign of another spiral. He showed none, remaining calm and quiet, as he stared at the writing. After a few moments, Gil and JT returned to the living room. Malcolm took a lap around the kitchen, looking at some pictures on the fridge before making his way out of the kitchen as well.  

 


 

The entire ride home Malcolm was again silent. And yet again, his silence worried Dani. Instead of staring blankly out of the window, he was preoccupied with his phone. When they returned to the conference room, Malcolm immediately went to the caseboard and started writing the intel from the most recent crime scene. JT sat on the far side of the table, and Dani leaned against the wall by the windows. 

“So what now?” Dani asked, directing the question toward Bright more than anyone else. He didn’t respond though, Gil did.

“Now we’re back to where we started, trying to figure out who the original killer is.” 

The team continued to spitball ideas, while Malcolm finished writing on the board. Dani watched him from the corner of her eye, as he meddled with his phone again, then made an announcement to the room. 

“I have to take care of something. I’ll be right back.” 

Gil nodded and continued his discussion with JT. Dani, however, eyed him as he swiftly left the conference room. After a second’s consideration, she took the back exit and practically sprinted down the stairs. She bounded out the stairwell door at the front of the building, making it to the main doors just in time to catch Bright as he exited. 

“Where exactly are you going?” she asked, faux inquisitively. 

As soon as he saw her, Malcolm rolled his eyes, annoyed that she’d followed him. “Nowhere. I have to take care of something.” 

“You think I can’t tell when you’re lying?” she crossed her arms and shifted all her weight to one leg. 

He didn’t even argue the fact. Instead he simply walked around her in a huff. As he passed she reached out and grabbed his wrist. “Bright,” she warned.

“Let go of me, Dani,” the anger in his voice didn’t exactly surprise her. Nor did his glare. 

She leaned in toward him and returned the same aggravated squint, “I know what you think you’re about to do and it’s not gonna happen.” 

Malcolm jerked his wrist from her hand, “You don’t get to decide what I can and cannot do.” 

“The hell I don’t, PARTNER,” she emphasized the last word as though it negated his argument completely. “Where you go, I go.” 

Bright continued to stare at her bitterly. She watched as the anger shifted to annoyance, then to frustration, and then it melted away completely. 

“Sometimes you annoy the hell out of me, you know that?” he huffed, stomping back up the stairs and pulling the door open for her. 

“Yeah? Well you should try being on this side my friend,” Dani play-smacked his cheek as she walked by. 

 

When they reentered the conference room Gil and JT both looked at them confused. “Where were you two?” 

“Bright,” she patted him on the back, “has some intel for us.” She smiled at him knowingly. 

He rolled his eyes again, but divulged the information nonetheless, “I found an address on the fridge at the crime scene. I think it’s meant for us.” 

Gil crossed his arms and chided the profiler, “Something to take care of, huh?” The lieutenant immediately turned to Dani, understanding what had happened in their absence, “Thank you.” 

She nodded in return. 

“The address is 7118 Mill Brook Road.” 

“Where the hell is that?” JT asked. 

Malcolm held up his phone, “Margaretville, New York. About two and a half hours north of here.” 

“Looks like we’re headed to the mountains,” Gil replied. “Good timing.” 

Agents Blake and Coe had just walked into the bullpen. When they entered the conference room, Gil informed them of the plan.

“Perfect. We’ll drive,” Coe replied. 

Gil turned to his team, “Time to gear up,” he ordered, as they exited the conference room.  

With vests and ammunition in hand, they split into groups and the Suburbans pulled out into traffic, headed north.